


hollow out my hungry eyes

by cuttothequickk



Series: makedamnsure [1]
Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Alley Sex, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Lovers, First Time, Just a lot of implication really, Kinda, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Sorry Not Sorry, The Author Regrets Nothing, They're an important part of this okay, collarbones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-14 01:41:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13583316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuttothequickk/pseuds/cuttothequickk
Summary: “Fuck, how the fuck did you fall?” Shizuo asks, clearly as surprised by this occurrence as Izaya is, and Izaya shrugs and watches as Shizuo takes an unsteady breath and sits up so that they’re face to face, Izaya crouched in a kneel and Shizuo sitting straight-backed before him. Izaya’s wrist is caught in Shizuo’s grasp, and how did neither of them actually notice that; how did they not notice the way Shizuo’s hand has reached up to grab onto Izaya’s hair, to tug his head so their eyes are locked on to each other’s. How did they not notice Izaya’s fingers trembling and reaching out as if to grasp comfort, how did they not notice, how?





	hollow out my hungry eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "makedamnsure" by Taking Back Sunday.

It’s not the glint of light off purple glasses that catches his eye, not the silky gloss of a black vest over a pale white shirt. It’s not the scowl, ever-present when Shizuo is stalking through the streets smoking a cigarette and gearing up for a potential fight. No, the thing that catches Izaya’s eye is the line of Shizuo’s collarbones, visible under a tugged-loose bowtie, a shirt unbuttoned at the top because it’s July in Ikebukuro and it’s hot, and the humidity is turning everyone into sludgy masses of lethargy and sweat.

 

Collarbones: such a strange thing to suddenly be aware of, and it’s not as if Izaya has never seen collarbones before, considering he has his own set jutting sharply out from under the pale skin he sees every single morning in his floor-to-ceiling mirror. But he’s never seen Shizuo’s collarbones before, and of course they’re really nothing special, only interesting because such a delicate set of bones shouldn’t belong to a monster, a beast, and anyway it doesn’t matter because if Izaya is close enough to Shizuo to see his collarbones, then he’s definitely close enough that Shizuo is about to notice him and start a chase that will send them careening around the city in a dance whose steps mostly comprise of smirks tossed back over a shoulder and the destruction of public property.

 

Izaya lets his eyes sweep the crest of Shizuo’s collarbones one last time. Shizuo has noticed Izaya and is yelling, Izaya cackling out a laugh and taking off down an alley. He leaps up to a fire escape, finds the edge of a rooftop to leap off of, throws himself towards the next building without an instant of hesitation. He feels the rush of wind against his cheek like a caress before he hits the other side and rolls, jumping up to gaze down two stories to where Shizuo is glaring up at him, cigarette long abandoned, shirt still showing off the shadows of clavicles under his skin.

 

Izaya grins. “What’s the matter? Is Shizu-chan unable to climb up this high?” He teases, eyes alight with mischief and delight. Shizuo can scowl all he wants; Izaya knows he enjoys this.

 

Shizuo lets out a loud growl and punches into the building, ripping rebar out of the brickwork so a smattering of rubble tumbles down to the ground. There’s blood on his knuckles, dripping to stain the asphalt with evidence of his monstrosity, of Izaya’s penchant for riling him up. Izaya watches the blood and his smirk widens.

 

“I’ve told you over and fucking over. Stay out of Ikebukuro,” Shizuo is growling, not loud enough to be a yell but with all the force of one. “But apparently you’re not even capable of following simple, easy-to-remember orders like that one. Maybe you’ll understand this: get the fuck down here so I can break every one of your ribs with my bare hands.” For a split second, Izaya thinks about it, thinks about dropping to the ground and letting pain lance up his shins, letting Shizuo break him down into a mess of blood and shattered bone and helpless gasps of pain. He shivers at the thought.

 

“Oh, Shizu-chan,” Izaya laughs, voice dripping with condescension and false saccharinity. “I’m not going to just hand myself over to you like a dumb little princess giving it up to some guy because he’s saved her from a dragon,” he says, batting his eyelids and tilting his head to the side.

 

And then Shizuo does let out a yell, because Izaya has started running along the edge of the wall towards the corner of the building. Shizuo starts following on the ground below, keeping pace with Izaya’s sprint far above him.

 

Izaya is just about to make the leap to the next rooftop when the ledge disappears out from under him. It’s so fast he hardly feels it, the sudden switch from solid brick to nothing beneath him, and then he’s hurtling face-first towards the asphalt, his outstretched hands his only defense against the shock of ground beneath him.

 

He only has time to feel adrenaline course through his veins and wonder how he managed to misjudge the distance to the edge of the building before he’s landing hard in a pair of outstretched arms, the angle of his descent resulting in an ungraceful tangle of his limbs with his savior’s, and they’re both falling to the ground, Izaya on top of whoever tried to catch him, sideways over another prone body that lets out an “oof” as they both hit the ground.

 

“The fuck?” The other person is saying, and it’s Shizuo, because of course it’s Shizuo; who else would have been around to see Izaya fall and have the strength let alone the desire to catch him? Izaya pushes himself to his hands and knees and looks up at the building, the flurry of rocks still dropping off the edge telling him that he didn’t misjudge the distance; the ledge must have disintegrated beneath him, sending him careening into the arms of his worst enemy.

 

Izaya scowls. “Dumb brute, couldn’t you at least catch me properly?” He manages to sit back on his knees beside Shizuo’s still-prone form, and then Shizuo sits up on an elbow to run a hand through his bleached blond hair, his expression still dazed on shock. Izaya can feel the adrenaline surging hard through his veins, can see the effects on Shizuo as well in the heave of his chest and the slight tremble in his fingers, and Izaya is leaning in before he can help it, studying Shizuo’s eyes as if they’ll tell him exactly why the Shizuo tried to save him.

 

“Fuck, how the fuck did you fall?” Shizuo asks, clearly as surprised by this occurrence as Izaya is, and Izaya shrugs and watches as Shizuo takes an unsteady breath and sits up so that they’re face to face, Izaya crouched in a kneel and Shizuo sitting straight-backed before him. Izaya’s wrist is caught in Shizuo’s grasp, and how did neither of them actually notice that; how did they not notice the way Shizuo’s hand has reached up to grab onto Izaya’s hair, to tug his head so their eyes are locked on to each other’s. How did they not notice Izaya’s fingers trembling and reaching out as if to grasp comfort, how did they not notice, how?

 

How has this never happened, Izaya thinks, adrenaline surging again through veins exhausted with chemical overload, and then his lips are on Shizuo’s, the hatred in his chest flaring up into something hotter and fuller, embers of anger turning to ash as heat sears through his ribs and into the hollow of his stomach, making him jerk closer to Shizuo so he’s straddling him on the ground of the alley.

 

Shizuo isn’t innocent either, his hands leaving Izaya’s wrist and hair to grasp at his hips with a force that could shatter bone if Shizuo weren’t being utterly, unequivocally gentle with hands capable of crushing stone. It makes Izaya shudder and moan, the sound stifled by Shizuo’s mouth as the blond runs his fingertips up under Izaya’s shirt, calloused hands skimming fragile ribs, the pressure just enough to remind Izaya that a single squeeze could fracture his chest into a hundred pieces. Shizuo tugs Izaya closer and Izaya thinks maybe the bones have been shattered, that maybe he feels faint and dizzy with pain instead of pleasure, the shards inside him rearranging themselves into a mosaic of Shizuo’s making. Izaya is his work of art.

 

They break away to gasp for air and their eyes meet, red on gold in a look that’s mostly lust but is mixed with a strange understanding, the kind of eye contact that friends make when something funny happens and they’re acknowledging it as a secret between them, no need for words. The simplicity of the gaze shocks through Izaya even as he sees that they’re on the same page, that they both want in a way that is uncanny and close to home, and then Shizuo is grasping the backs of Izaya’s thighs and standing like it’s nothing, both of them groaning as Shizuo braces Izaya’s back against a wall, holding him up with no effort at all.

 

It’s easy to give in to this, Izaya thinks, and lets out a moan. It’s easy to give in, and so he does just that, in a public alley where anyone could see, with his worst enemy. Izaya gives in.

 

It takes a good long while before the real world catches up to them, the adrenaline still spiking in Izaya’s veins as he gasps for breath and clings to Shizuo to remain upright. The knowledge of what they’ve done eventually overrides their breathlessness, and Shizuo’s eyes finally open so they’re just staring at each other, both of them with hair all a mess and eyes dark and dazed. Looking at Shizuo is like looking in a mirror, both of them wrecked and satiated, both of them startled and uncertain, in some ways scared of themselves, of the new language blooming between them, unstoppable.

 

Izaya is the one who manages to speak first, his tongue untangling itself and somehow gaining the dexterity to form words, even if they’re not as powerful as whatever language they were just speaking between their lips and their tongues and their hands.

 

“Did Shizu-chan trip and let his tongue fall into my mouth?” Izaya asks, voice hoarse and more wrecked than he thought it would sound, aiming for angry and landing somewhere between breathless and confused.

 

Shizuo looks dazed, still a little punch-drunk in the aftermath, but he blinks and pulls it together enough to step away, and Izaya’s legs give out so he falls to his knees, like an act of prayer or maybe prostration. He’s coherent enough to notice that Shizuo’s collarbones are poking through the edges of his shirt, and Izaya swallows hard and wonders what they taste like, and hopes he never finds out.

 

“Fuck you, Izaya-kun,” Shizuo spits, turning to stalk out of the alleyway and into the street. He pulls his vest straight, never looking back, his hair still a bit ruffled up and his walk just as confident and strong as ever. Izaya is still sitting against the wall of the building where Shizuo dropped him, his heart still pounding and his hands still shaking and his spine still aching with the force of hitting the ground hard.

 

 _What was that about not giving it up to a prince who saves you from a dragon?_ Izaya’s traitorous brain asks him. He shoves away the thought and presses fingers to bruised lips, and then he pushes himself into his usual slouch and steps down and out of the alley, his mouth quirked up into a smile, and him unable to make it go away.


End file.
